


before the storm

by werealldreaming



Series: you can't protect by killing [2]
Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, How Do I Tag, Kaladin's Impulsiveness, Shattered Plains, Surgeon AU, uhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 23:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werealldreaming/pseuds/werealldreaming
Summary: Kaladin goes to the Shattered Plains. He doesn't like what he finds.





	before the storm

**Author's Note:**

> This installment is brought to you by keyboard smashing and screaming.

When Kaladin gets promoted, he immediately accepts. There isn’t a desire for glory attached with the offer, not anymore. (When he remembers that past Kaladin, he laughs). But there isn’t a reason to refuse. There’s an increased pay, and he has no plans on returning home. Other soldiers have that privilege, not Kaladin.

 

* * *

 

His first impression of Highprince Sadeas’ warcamp is: _huge_. He knows not all of it is Sadeas’ camp, but the expanse is breathtaking all the same. Flags bearing the glyphpairs of different brightlords stretch for leagues towards the horizon. Kaladin had thought Amaram’s army had been large, but it is insignificant next to the warcamps of the Shattered Plains.

His second impression of the camp is: _disorganized_. Kaladin glimpses crem buildup on more than a few buildings, and the general atmosphere of the place is slovenly. The soldiers’ uniforms are dirty and rumpled, and they don’t seem to be keeping order very well. He doesn't mention these thoughts aloud. It wouldn't do to make a poor first impression, no matter how true the comments are.

The other surgeons are utterly unlike the surgeons in Amaram’s army. Kaladin isn’t sure why he’s surprised about that. These surgeons are older, harder, and far more jaded. They simply don’t care as much— they still do their jobs, but there’s even less of an emotional component to it than in Amaram’s army. _I’ve been here since the war started,_ one tells Kaladin. _At this point, I’ve almost forgotten why we’re fighting_. Kaladin frowns; this isn’t how he’d imagined the Shattered Plains. He turns back to his work.

 

* * *

 

He's sent on a run to get some basic supplies from an apothecary. Kaladin isn't sure why the army purchases its supplies from apothecaries, of all places. But Kaladin has never studied economics or trade, so he doesn't question it. He's a little surprised at the cost too, but his father had never mentioned the cost of supplies, so he doesn't have a proper frame of reference.

The apothecary is an old man, stooped and weary. He finishes the transactions quickly and efficiently, and he doesn't try to sell any of the false tokens and potions he has displayed in his shop. Kaladin supposes he's not foolish enough to offer them to a surgeon.

He’s sent back several times, and eventually he becomes friends with the man. He learns that the apothecary has a daughter that he accidentally forced away when she was a teenager. _It was my biggest regret,_ he tells Kaladin, his voice shaking. Kaladin nods, and thinks about sending a letter to his father. He doesn't.

 

* * *

 

The other surgeons start to shun him after he refuses to go out for a drink in favor of staying in the surgeons’ tent. Nothing will happen, they tell him. Take some time to relax. Kaladin thinks of the time he'd stayed behind and ended up saving a man's life, and refuses again. The others scowl, and turn away. Kaladin pretends he doesn't hear them grumbling.

Once, he tries to join them on their weekly drinking. The others scoff when he asks to join. _Finally joining us commoners, are you?_ Kaladin frowns at that, but continues with them. Still, the teasing bothers him. He leaves the tavern early, slipping out as the others get caught up in their drinks.

As he’s walking back, he hears raised voices. When Kaladin finds the source, all he can do is gape. A lighteyed officer is screaming at a young woman— one who is not clothed very modestly. Kaladin wants to avert his eyes. The woman is sobbing and trying to cover herself. The man’s shouts are drawing attention, but rather than stepping in, people are slipping away, emptying the street.

“Stop it!” Kaladin calls out, walking towards the pair. “What are you doing?”

The lighteyes doesn’t deign to respond. He just turns and walks away. Kaladin scowls and grits his teeth.

“Are you alright?” Kaladin turns to the woman. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” the woman replies, sniffling slightly. She looks away and quickly finishes covering herself. “Thank you.” Then she, too, turns and hurries away.

The act that day gives him a reputation— the surgeon that helps people outside of the surgeon’s quarters. Kaladin is horrified— is he the only one who tries to help people even when off-duty? _Nobody cares that much,_ one of the soldiers tells him. _We've all been fighting this war for too long._

 

* * *

 

He finds out about the bridgecrews purely by accident. He’s sent to find the barracks of a patient, in order to check up on them, and takes a wrong turn and ends up by the lumber yard. There are carpenters at work, building, and nearby there are groups of men, lying or sitting on the ground. Kaladin wonders why they're not doing anything.

The horns ring out, signalling the start of a chasmfiend hunt. The men start moving around, splitting into groups and picking up large bridges. Kaladin stares— are they expected to carry the bridges all the way to where the chasmfiends are? Though he's never been out there, he knows the plateaus are far out. And these men will have to carry a bridge out there, too.

Kaladin goes to his patient, but that evening he returns. He asks the men about the bridges. Many ~~(most)~~ don't respond, but what he hears from the ones that do has his blood boiling.

 

* * *

 

The sergeant in charge of the bridge crews is called Lamaril, Kaladin discovers. He’s a lighteyes, but seventh dahn, not particularly wealthy. Kaladin calls out to him as he approaches.

“Yes?” he says, taking in Kaladin’s dark eyes and surgeon’s uniform. “Am I needed somewhere?”

“No,” Kaladin says. “I just wanted to ask you some questions, if you’re free.”

Lamaril straightens and says, “Of course. I can provide whatever help you need. What do you want to know?”

“I wanted to know why in Damnation the bridge crews are treated so poorly.”

Lamaril immediately narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“They’re not given proper training, and yet they’re expected to run and put themselves in danger. They’re not given proper clothing, either. They have no access to medical care. They’re treated worse than parshmen!”

“They’re criminals. Some of them are murderers, almost all of them are slaves. They’re dirt.” Lamaril shifts from foot to foot. “Besides, it’s not my place to help them. I’m supposed to make sure the bridgemen run smoothly so that Brightlord Sadeas can capture gemhearts.”

“Not your _place?_ It’s exactly your place! You’re in charge of them, by the Almighty!”

“I’m just following Brightlord Sadeas’ orders. He says we shouldn’t waste resources on the bridgemen, and I agree with him. They just end up dead, anyway.”

“So what? Everyone dies eventually; does that mean we should just give up on life? That we shouldn’t try to help everyone?”

“Of course not,” Lamaril snaps. “But some people just aren’t worth the effort. Those bridgemen, they die within a few bridgeruns. There’s no way to save them; it’s just a waste of resources.”

Kaladin gapes for a moment, barely able to process what Lamaril has just said. There’s a pounding in his ears. “ _A waste?_ They’re men, not chulls! They’re not just things, to be discarded when they outlive their usefulness. _You can’t quantify a man’s life!_ ”

“Look, I don’t have the time for this. Stop pretending your foolishness means you're better than others, and make my life easier, please.”

Kaladin punches him. It's not a conscious choice— one moment he's staring at Lamaril, trying not to snap again, and the next Lamaril is clutching his face and swearing.

“Storming Damnation!” Lamaril’s nose is bleeding, Kaladin notices. Then he realizes what he's done.

“Oh storms, I'm sorry,” Kaladin says. “I didn't mean to hurt you, I'm sorry.”

Lamaril ignores him. Holding his nose closed, he walks off.

Kaladin watches him leave. He becomes aware of a throbbing in his knuckles, but he ignores it. _Why did I do it?_ he wonders. His father had always told him not to hurt people. _Harming is counterproductive to what we do,_ he’d reminded Kaladin, after one of Jost’s lessons in the quarterstaff. Kaladin had taken those words to heart, and the next day he had told Jost to stop giving him lessons.

But now he’d done it again. Harmed, instead of hurt. He’d meant to try and help people, but instead had gotten nothing done, and he’d hurt someone. _Storms._

 

* * *

 

When Kaladin returns to the surgeon's tent, the head surgeon is waiting. Vineval is normally a kind man, but when he sees Kaladin his eyes are like chips of ice.

“What were you _thinking?_ ” he asks. “Kaladin, you’ve never done something like this before. What did that man do to you?”

“He’s in charge of the bridgecrews,” Kaladin says. His tone is monotone, flat. “He doesn’t think those men are worth anything.”

“I see.” Vineval is calm, cold. “I understand that this is upsetting to you, Kaladin, but control yourself next time. Lamaril wanted to put you in a bridge crew, but he understands the importance of surgeons.”

Kaladin isn’t a fool; he understands what Vineval is insinuating. “Thank you, sir. I apologize.”

“Don’t do something like that again. He does have the power to put you into a bridge crew. I’d hate to lose one of my best surgeons.”

 

* * *

 

Kaladin tries to ignore the bridge crews, for a while. He finds that thinking too much about their situation just makes him angry, so he just doesn’t think about them. Their barracks are easy to avoid, and so he does. He tries not to feel guilty whenever a stray thought crosses his mind.

It doesn’t work.

Kaladin starts to visit the bridgemen. He brings proper clothing, bought with his surgeon’s paycheck. He brings proper food, better than the slop the bridgemen are fed. He can't bring money— it's illegal for slaves to make money other than their wages, and Kaladin doesn't make enough for that anyway. But he brings some medical supplies for those who are wounded but still make it back. _(He pretends he's not furious that they cannot get proper medical treatment)._

They mostly ignore him. Many can be convinced to accept the food, and some take the clothing. Almost none respond in more than grunts when he tries to talk to them. _They've lost hope,_ he realizes. He tries to help anyway.

When he comes back, it's clear the bridgemen are surprised. Kaladin wonders when they were last shown basic kindness, and his anger returns. He asks, _aren't you angry that you have to do this?_ They just shrug.

He makes friends, slowly. He learns that Bridge 2 has the least hopeless people out of all the bridgemen, and that Bridge 4 always takes the heaviest casualties. He learns the names of as many men as he can. He treats them like humans, rather than animals.

 

* * *

 

Someone gets upset that he's visiting the bridgemen. Someone reports him to Lamaril. Someone reports him to Vineval. When he returns one day, they're waiting for him.

“What are you doing with the bridgemen? Didn’t I tell you they’re worthless?” Lamaril is clearly upset.

Kaladin frowns. “Why do you care? I wasn’t using the army’s resources to help them; I used things I bought with my own pay.”

“In a place like this, everything is army resources,” Lamaril says. “Do you think these supplies come from nowhere? Everything here is either Soulcast or imported at great cost.”

“Yeah, I noticed that a lot of things were expensive,” Kaladin says. “Like I said, I didn’t steal these from the supplies, I bought them from apothecaries.”

“Kaladin is right,” Vineval says. “I’ve never had anything go missing from inventory, he doesn’t steal the supplies he gives the bridgemen.” Kaladin shoots him a grateful look, but Vineval continues: “Brightlord Lamaril. You can’t send him to the bridgecrews. I know you have issues with him, but he’s _much_ more useful as a surgeon than as a bridgeman.”

 

* * *

 

Lamaril sputters. “I— _issues?_ The storming man punched me! Any other man would be a slave right now! The only reason he’s not is because you think a violent surgeon is better off in a position of power.”

“At least I care about other men’s lives,” Kaladin snaps, unable to stop himself. “You’re just a selfish bully.”

Lamaril stares at him, then turns around and walks away stiffly. Kaladin and Vineval glance at each other, then watch him go.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Vineval says, but Kaladin just shrugs. He’s not sorry.

 

* * *

 

The demotion notice comes within a week. _By order of Highprince Sadeas, you are now a member of Bridge Four._

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm.... not really happy with this one, honestly. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](http://ternaryflower53.tumblr.com)!


End file.
